


Close Proximity

by Andromaca



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bulge Kink, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Mild breeding kink, Nipple Play, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 06:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17803178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromaca/pseuds/Andromaca
Summary: Connor is going to show Hank a sight he’s never seen.





	Close Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> self-indulgent smut for my good bulge kink loving friends out there

It’s the culmination of a long term project, Hank realizes offhandedly, it’s the finish line. It’s what Connor and him have been working towards during the past months; the subtle glances, the gentle touches, the rarer flirtatious tone of voice... Hank thinks, as Connor kisses him deeper and fiercer, that perhaps, it was always destined to end like this, with Hank on the sofa, and Connor raising one of his thighs to swiftly seat himself on Hank’s lap.

It’s what they want. Is it not?

Hank puts his hands on Connor’s shoulders, and pushes at them lightly — Connor must understand Hank needs a moment to process this, surely, because he inches back slightly, and with half open eyes, kiss-bitten lips, he waits for Hank to speak. “Woah there, Connor,” he says, but even his words don’t begin to cover half of how overwhelmed he is, they don’t begin just how excited he is to finally kiss Connor, how much he has anticipated this, “You sure you want this?”

It’s not that he necessarily doubts Connor’s judgement — naivety aside, he’s probably a much more functional being than Hank is, and Hank has lived with free will all his life — rather, he needs confirmation. He needs Connor to make it clear that this is not one-sided, that this is to him the same it is to Hank. He needs to hear that he wasn’t mistaken when at the station he would look up from his paperwork to find Connor staring at him, when in the morning he’d wake up to a hearty breakfast waiting for him on the kitchen table, when he’d come back from a shift to find Connor had done his house chores for him, and thought Connor had a crush on him. Hank’s seen the way Connor looks at and talks to the other officers at work; he has none of the secretive smiles reserved for them, none of the playful banter, and Hank thinks that it has to account for something, but he _needs_ Connor to say it with his own words.

Connor nods, then, enthusiastic even in the minute movement — Hank feels like he’s being pulled back to reality by it — and he smiles as he takes one Hank’s big hands and intertwines it in his own for a short moment, kisses softly the hardened knuckles and the adroit fingers, before leading it to his chest to touch the bare synthetic skin. “Yes, Hank, I’m sure,” he says, breathy, and he gets close to Hank again, so close their noses are touching and so close Hank feels like he’s going cross-eyed with the effort of keeping his gaze locked on Connor’s pretty face, “Please, touch me.”

It’s as much validation as he’s going to get right now, Hank supposes.

Connor is especially sensitive on his chest, Hank finds, what with all the squirming he does when Hank’s gentle mouth presses tender kisses below his collarbone, and what with the way he squeezes his eyes shut when Hank’s experienced fingers climb up his stomach to cup the muscles of his pectorals and to touch his pert nipples, lovingly and slowly, giving every part of Connor the thorough love it deserves. Hank kisses, bites, licks and caresses everywhere he can reach, but it’s only when Connor presses himself even closer to Hank and Hank can _feel_ his erection poking his thigh that he does realize just how much Connor likes this. “Could you come from this alone?”

“The chances are very high,” he says, without hints of breathlessness in his voice — Hank hates to be the one so affected, his heart beating its way outside his ribcage, his hair disheveled and his voice gruff, or gruffer than usual, that is. He takes Connor’s chin inbetween his thumb and forefinger, then, closing the distance between their lips in a kiss yet again, as his hands find their place back on Connor’s chest, rolling the soft, small nipples until Connor’s LED light flashes yellow; that has to be a good sign, because then, Connor rocks his hips towards Hank again.

When Hank drops his mouth to take one of Connor’s nipples in it, the room is silent save for the occasional wet sound Hank makes sucking on Connor’s chest, or it is, until Connor lovingly cards a hand through Hank’s hair, pulling it so that his gaze travels up to meet Connor’s eyes, and asks, “Does it bother you?”

Hank pulls away, and looks at Connor with as much love as ever painted across his features, a soft smile on his lips. “What does?”

“That I don’t make sounds like humans do.”

“It doesn’t,” Hank is quick to say, pressing a kiss against Connor’s sternum — or his android equivalent — and adding, with his lips still smushed on Connor’s skin, “‘M just gonna have to learn to read you better.”

Something surges inside of Connor at Hank’s words — Hank can see his skin deactivate and recede in spots on his shoulders and surprised face, the white chassis underneath it showing and the glowing light blue details alongside it, and it doesn’t seem like Connor is controlling it, because he averts his eyes, and in a timid, apologetic voice he says, “A malfunction, Hank.”

Hank feels the irresistible need to kiss all of the white spots, his chest swelling impossibly with longing and fondness for the embarrassed way Connor turns his head from Hank’s piercing gaze, and he does; he kisses every spot once, washing each and every one of them with attention and smiling against Connor where his mouth presses, and inbetween kisses he asks, “Are you— blushing?!”

Connor nods, sheepish and skittishly refusing to look Hank in the eyes still while he pulls the waistband of his shorts down, and the tip of his cock shows and leaks on Hank’s belly with a shallow rocking of Connor’s hips. Hank buries his face in Connor’s chest, tries his best to smother his laughter lest Connor thinks he is laughing _at_ him and not _thanks_ to him; Hank’s happy — genuinely, truly happy — for once and he thinks that as he holds Connor’s small form, athletic and sinewy, but smaller than Hank nonetheless. Hank’s happy and he realizes it even as Connor gives small, tentative thrusts of his cock on Hank’s stomach to try and get Hank to pay attention to him, to try and get himself off while Hank’s mind is wandering someplace else. Hank’s happy, and tells Connor as much, holding him in his strong arms, and muttering the words against the surface of the Thirium pump regulator on Connor’s stomach, the words muffled but regardless audible.

Connor smiles, again, the white patches on his skin still trying to mend themselves to no avail and ending up spreading the visible white further in a show of bashfulness, and says, in a quiet voice, ”I think I am, too.”

Something changes in Hank’s demeanor; he realizes — belatedly, perhaps, considering Connor has been sitting on his lap and showering him with kisses for more than a handful of minutes — that he cannot wait, he doesn’t want to, why would he? Connor is sure in his decision and he shows it licking Hank’s lips and bringing his hands on him, on his hips, on his cock, on the neglected, plump pretend-flesh of his ass, in a wordless imploration to show as him as much attention as he is showing Hank. It’s true that the silence of the room, where, under any other circumstances, it would be filled with moans, were Connor not so unlike humans, is somewhat jarring; not that it necessarily _is_ in a bad way, and it gives Hank a chance to know Connor better, the little slip-ups when Hank touches him somewhere that’s particularly sensitive and Connor’s skin deactivates at the contact, or his LED flashes for as many beats as it takes him to calm down from the high of having Hank press his hard-on against his own crotch. Connor doesn’t voice his pleasure, but his lower lip quivers when Hank’s tongue licks over a patch of synthetic skin, and his grip in Hank’s hair tightens when he nibbles on Connor’s tender lip before breaking up from a kiss.

“Hank,” Connor breathes, “Don’t tease.”

Hank concedes, then, that Connor does not deserve to be kept waiting; he helps Connor gently off his lap and to his feet — Hank is a little envious of how much grace lies in every single one of Connor’s steps even when the outline of his hard dick is visible through his shorts — and lets Connor lead the short way to the bedroom, leaving Hank with a full view of his delectable backside. They do exchange a quick kiss before stepping into the room, they’re not animals, Hank quickly grabbing one of Connor’s wrists and pulling him close to his own chest, now towering over him by a fair amount of inches and looking into his big, brown eyes with adoration before closing his own and bringing his lips down on Connor’s for just a few seconds before he complains about there being more pressing matters to tend to, and Hank lets him go with a brief laugh.

Connor shimmies out of his shorts, the last of the clothes he’s wearing, and kneels on the bed, turning, with a small smile on his face, towards Hank, beckoning him closer from where he’s standing still in the doorway; Connor’s drop-dead gorgeous — his state-of-the-art figure putting other androids and men alike to shame — Hank feels petrified, dizzy with the sudden realization that Connor wants _Hank_ to fuck him and not anyone else, at the realization that Connor is so beautiful and he’s allowed to touch, unable to move from his spot until Connor spreads his knees further, and lays his front on the bed under him, effectively giving him a perfect view of himself. It’s all Hank can do not to make Connor wait any further and step closer to touch him, to run his hands on the soft curve of Connor’s ass, to gently spread his cheeks, and it’s then that he sees it: Connor’s little hole, tight, but glistening, and ready for him in the sense that it visibly clenches in the crisp air of the bedroom.

It knocks the breath out of Hank because Connor is amazing and every part of him is, and coupled with Connor’s little, breathy plead of “Hank,” it is what he needs to finally raise a hand, and lightly circle Connor’s hole with a finger before pressing in; Hank finds himself too engrossed in fingering Connor until he can take one, two, _three_ of his thick fingers with no problems to notice that the only sounds in the room are the wet squelching of Hank’s hand pistoning in and out of Connor and Hank’s own breathing, heavy with focus and mild fatigue. Connor does not necessarily need to voice if he’s enjoying himself, Hank can tell that he is by the way he rocks his hips back on Hank’s fingers with urgency and his cute, little cock drools on the duvet; Hank reaches down to touch his free hand to the tip of Connor’s dick, and when he sees Connor’s LED spin yellow for a beat he says, perhaps a little dumbly, “Jesus, Connor, you’re leaking like a faucet.”

“Hank,” Connor says, again, and then once more, “Hank, please.”

Hank knows Connor will not break, or hurt, but there is something in showing him utmost care and respect, in preparing him, in kissing the back of his lean thighs as he lowers his own boxers and sweatpants, in squeezing his hips lightly in encouragement, that makes being with Connor all the more sweeter and makes Hank feel _right_ , and if Connor’s mouth, open ever so slightly, is anything to go by, he loves the attention. Connor’s hand reaches behind to touch Hank, his right thigh, his wrist, and deactivates his the skin as he makes contact in a one-sided interface of sorts, as Hank takes himself in his hand and he marvels, for a second, at his luck; Connor, needy, and laying on his bed, practically begging him to fuck him — that’s not an everyday sight, a rare treat Hank’s more than happy to have for himself.

Hank can see, as he slowly pushes inside of Connor — accommodating, even when Connor doesn’t need it — that his blush spreads; he’s in to the hilt by the time he realizes that Connor’s skin is gone from his shoulders entirely, and that white patches of plastic spread from his neck downwards and upwards, and Hank wants so bad to see if Connor’s face, now hidden by the cover he’s smushed it into, is entirely white or if he still holds onto the pale synthetic skin along with its cute, little moles. He has the idea, then, to snake one of his arms below Connor, to hoist him up and close to his own chest, and it’s when they’re both kneeling upright on Hank’s bed that he notices, with evident pleasure, that part of Connor’s face has given up trying to go back to normalcy and contrasts starkly with the pink of his nose, of his lips, and the brown of his eyes, eyebrows, and tuft of hair that falls onto his forehead.

Hank kisses Connor’s neck, then, and where his lips touch, the skin recedes briefly, only to come back after a split second; from where he’s craned his own neck to kiss Connor’s, he sees, by chance, that where his fingertips lay on Connor’s chest, white chassis shows underneath, barely, almost shy in the way it hides under Hank’s hand.

Strangely enough, that is what sends Hank moving, and not Connor’s request to, and the sweet heat Hank thrusts in and out of almost sends him reeling, if not for the vice-tight grip he has on Connor that anchors Hank on the bed, behind him. Connor is tight, very much so, so much that Hank takes to kissing Connor’s plastic shoulder lest he ruins the quiet of the room with sounds of his own. Or that is, until Hank notices that the slide is much easier now, and he stills, dares a touch inbetween Connor’s legs, lower and lower under his cock and to where they’re connected; sure enough, there’s CyberLife-brand lube smeared everywhere on the back of Connor’s thighs and, inevitably, on Hank’s as well.

“Wet like a cunt,” Hank whispers, close to Connor’s ear so he hears him clear, “You want me to breed you, huh? To fill you up? That it, Connor?”

Connor shakes his head — Hank doesn’t miss his little light painting the bedroom wall with a faint yellow glow — unable to respond coherently and therefore not responding at all, if not for the way one of his hands squeezes the wrist Hank has laying on his chest. There’s shuffling, then, Connor moving his free hand from the sheets under him to his stomach, but from where Hank is, he can’t see what he’s doing with it — he does hear a faint mechanical whirring and the telltale sound of plastic sliding against plastic; before he has the chance to strain his neck and look, Connor takes the hand Hank keeps at his side in his, lays it on the innermost part of himself, and between a thrust and the other, Hank feels the wires and components move with his force and size.

“Touch me here,” Connor says, “Please.”

It happens in a split second that Hank pulls out of Connor and turns him around, hurriedly, albeit as gently as ever, to look at him in the eye as he pushes inside again, and to look at his open stomach, vulnerable and incredibly attractive when the wires inside bunch in time with Hank fucking into him. Hank hesitantly follows Connor’s lead, then, raising a timid hand to tentatively stroke one of the more prominent tubes; Connor’s LED turns red immediately at the contact, his pretty mouth opens ever so slightly, and the smallest sound escapes his lips, before the skin on his upper cheeks deactivates entirely in shame.

Hank stills, and stares dumbfounded. “So you do moan, after all.”

“I didn’t know,” Connor explains, avoiding Hank’s direct gaze, “I have never played with myself like this.”

“And... how do you touch yourself?”

“Like you would,” Connor says, simply, completely ignorant of the way it affects Hank.

There are a couple of thicker tubes in the foreground of the opening in Connor’s stomach which, Hank finds, Connor loves for him to fondle, but when he dares to drop his hand a little deeper, and to take one of the smallest wires inbetween his thumb and forefinger, sliding his fingers up and down the length of it, Connor practically wails — or he does, by his “no moaning” standards, with the high sound he lets out — and frantically he begs Hank to touch him more, and to fuck him faster, harder.

It proves surprisingly easy to do both at the same time; Hank’s hand glides easily when it’s slick with lube and when the wires move on their own anyway, with the force behind every single one of Hank’s thrusts. Hank feels about as lost in pleasure as Connor looks, with eyes open, looking up at Hank with love, his mouth closed and tight lipped to keep all the little whimpers confined, and his LED beating red and yellow alternatively — in a good way, Hank presumes — with the only difference being that Hank’s breathing is laboured, he’s sweating, and it takes a much bigger toll on him to fuck Connor as relentlessly as he’d like Hank to, than it takes Connor to take it.

It’s when Hank notices he’s close to orgasm that he gets the idea, and with the hand that was previously firmly holding one Connor’s thighs up, he takes Connor’s dick in his hand — realizes, with pride, that it fits for the most part, and only the head peeks out when Hank closes his hand in a fist around it — while the other still works on his insides; Connor moans, then, loud, blinks a steady red, and scrambles with his hands for purchase on Hank, touching his wrists, his hands, his forearms and biceps until he reaches his shoulders, and pulls him down to kiss him tenderly and languidly, while still touching him everywhere he can.

Connor breaks the kiss with perfect timing when he feels Hank twitching inside of him and says, as if suddenly aware, “I’m going to come, Hank.”

It doesn’t go completely over Connor’s head that Hank tries his best to fuck him faster and deeper after he says that, and it’s very much appreciated that Hank drops his head and plants kisses on Connor’s chest and on his collarbone; Hank taking one of Connor’s nipples in his mouth, licking it and sucking it, is what seems to do Connor in, spilling over Hank’s hand and over himself with a brief, but high pitched moan, and with Hank fucking him thoroughly throughout it. Hank doesn’t need much else to follow him suit; if Connor’s blissed out expression doesn’t do it for him, it does the way he clenches tight around his cock and looks up at him innocently with his big doe eyes, and Hank’s ageing body, with the stamina of the middle-aged man that he is, gives in, coming deep inside of Connor, and thrusting into him all the while to push it deeper.

Hank lays himself by Connor when he’s pulled himself out, and hugs him close to his chest, presses his smile into the crown of Connor’s head, kissing him lightly, hoping it suffices as a way of saying just how much he _loves_ Connor, how much he’s grown to like him; Hank supposes he doesn’t need to tell him now, when they have all their lives ahead of them. But, he does say, “There is so much I still don’t know about you.”

“There are a lot of things I don’t know about myself, either,” Connor looks at him, tenderly, and smiles as he continues, “But I want to explore everything with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> i’m on twitter at [@cuteroboboy](http://twitter.com/cuteroboboy) i like making new friends and talking about gay androids, please come talk to me


End file.
